


A Bored GP With A Poorly Fueled Adrenaline Addiction

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Au: bloggers, Awkwardness, Blogger Sherlock, Blogger john, Eventual Smut, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a blogger. John is a blogger. *sappy music plays* bloggers in loooooooooove!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Have The Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



> For yarnjunkie, the blogger I love.

Sherlock had been working a very high profile case and the press had been hounding him. The only benefit was that he'd been able to mention the name of his blog to the idiot hoards. It meant that when he sat down that night to his laptop there were thirty-five new hits. Fantastic. He had hoped the blog would drum up some private cases, but it hadn't really worked. 

He sipped his tea and scrolled through, making sure once again that everything he posted had been spellchecked. He looked again at the hit counter and felt content, actually content. Then his eyes caught something new. Something he'd never seen before. A small image of a letter with a number one on it. 

Had he got a message? A comment? How was that possible? To tell the truth he'd forgotten that people could comment at all since it had never happened. He scrolled down to the bottom of the page and read the message. 

'Why don't you ever write up your cases?-drjw86772'

Hmm. Interesting. He thought on it for a while and then typed out a response. 

'Would people care? Why would they care?-sh'

He was startled from his thoughts when the laptop chimed. A response. The person writing him must not have a life, he thought bitterly. 

'You're brilliant, I would love to hear about the cases, and I'm sure others would too.-drjw86772'

Sherlock typed a quick response and then slammed the computer shut. Ridiculous. He shouldn't have to explain his methods to a bunch of idiots! He definitely didn't feel a stirring in his stomach upon being called brilliant. He definitely wouldn't write up his cases...or if he did he'd refuse to put it in layman's terms. He would absolutely not dumb things down for this, this drjwsomthingorother. He probably wasn't even a doctor. He was probably some bored teenager. 

\-----

John sat at his desk, not really enjoying the sandwich he got out of the vending machine, checking his mail. Bills. Bills. Porn. Bills. Oh! Oh, something from that bizarre man who ran thescienceofdeduction. He opened it to find a strange response. Did he really not know why people would want to hear about his cases? He was better than a spy novel! He was bloody brilliant! 

He typed out a new comment and sat waiting for a response. He must have refreshed his mail ten times before he decided to go back to work. The genius probably wasn't even on the computer. He was probably out fighting his next foe and solving a mystery. 

Then the computer chimed. He opened up the new email. 

'I don't have time.-sh'

His stomach sank. Of course he didn't have time, he was busy solving cases for the Met. He didn't have time for a bored GP with a poorly fueled adrenaline addiction.


	2. Anonymity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to write up a case. He's vague as ever.

There wasn't anything new on the blog for days, and John had started feeling stupid for checking as often as he did. He had to admit that since he saw the TV interview, well, ambush TV interview, with Sherlock he'd been enticed. He'd always been drawn to the dramatic, and Sherlock was exactly that. The second he saw those sharp cheekbones and inky curls he was hooked. 

He hit the refresh button one more time and it worked. His sanity would be saved! He was pretty much at the end of his rope. (The day had gone slowly, what with everyone in London getting the flu. People hated to be told to go home and rest, they wanted a miracle cure.) when the page reloaded there was a write up of a recent case and a disclaimer that Sherlock Holmes would not explain anything further. Interesting. 

As he read on his happiness diminished. He didn't really understand the case, things seemed to jump around. When he got to the last line it read: So it was the sister, you could tell by the sweater she wore. 

He didn't usually feel stupid, he had made it through medical school after all, but the feeling was reaching into his gut. He refreshed the page again to see if he'd missed something. Maybe the case had been loaded improperly. When it blinked back there were already two comments. He scrolled to the bottom to read them. 

'Ridiculous! You couldn't have known anything based on only the sweater.-Aforensicdude21'

And another. 

'You're a fraud, this is why the Met doesn't pay you.-sally2453'

He fumed. How dare these two arseholes talk like that about Sherlock? Hadn't they even seen the rest of his site? OK, so it did seem a little outlandish, but if the Met trusted him he must be the genuine article. The problem with the Internet was anonymity. These jerks could talk shit and get away with it because they didn't have to show their faces. 

He typed out a reply to them. 

'If he's a fraud, then why does the Met consult with him? Hmm? Got a smart arse answer for that?-drjw86772'

He refreshed the screen again and scrolled quickly to the bottom. Nothing. No response from Sherlock. Damn. He really hoped these idiots hadn't changed his mind about writing up his cases. If he could only tell him what he needed to explain then maybe he'd be accepted. It was strange that he cared whether Sherlock was accepted at all, it wasn't like they knew each other. 

\-----

Stupid. He knew this was going to happen. He'd written it all up like someone suggested and this is what he got back. He supposed the only thing to do was expose Donovan and Anderson's affair. It was glaringly obvious that they were the ones to comment. They didn't even try to hide it by doing it anonymously. Bloody teenagers. 

He slipped on his coat and stormed from the flat, not noticing the email alert telling him there was a new comment from drjw86772. Not that it mattered. Not that anything did.


	3. Flurry Of Dark Wool And Sharp Cheekbones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock meet.

It took John two weeks of checking and rechecking thescienceofdeduction without any luck for him to make the decision to do what might possibly be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done (and he invaded Afghanistan). He finally had a whole day off from the clinic and was pacing the flat getting up the nerve. He sat back down at his desk and opened his laptop. He went to the bottom of the page and clicked the link that would let him email Sherlock. 

'Dear Mr Holmes, 

I have a problem with which I could use your assistance. My brother was brutally murdered three years ago and they never found the killer. Just recently I have begun getting threatening letters from an unknown sender. In them they mention my brother's murder. Please help. 

JW'

He finished typing up the utter fabrication and hit the send button. Tea. Best to make some tea. As he was filling the kettle his stomach twisted and he wondered what would happen when Sherlock found out he was a fraud. He'd probably hate him forever. Christ! What had he done? 

Before he could go to the computer and see if there was a way to unsend the email his mobile chimed. New email. Damn. Best to get it over with. He opened the app and read the response. 

'Dear JW (first name obviously John), 

I have no doubt you can use my assistance, most can. While I wonder of the validity of your story, as I know it is you that has been commenting on my blog, doctor, I am intrigued. Come to my home, 221b Baker Street, and your earliest convenience. On further thought, come at once. 

SH'

John stuck his mobile in his pocket and hobbled to the door, putting on his jacket and grabbing his cane. What he was going to say when he met the mysterious man was beyond him. He walked out into the street and hailed a cab, giving the cabby the address and fidgeting nervously with his cane. 

As the car bustled across North London rain started to fall. John looked out the window, watching the sprinkles turn into a downright deluge and hating his leg. Bloody temperamental thing. 

When they pulled up outside 221 John sighed and passed some bills to the cabbie. He got out and cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella as he got soaked on his way to the front stoop. He rang the buzzer and a small woman with short blonde hair and a sweet smile ushered him in. 

"Oh, dear, you must be here to see Sherlock. Look at you, dripping like a wet kitten. Off with the jacket, let's get that dried. Sherlock's flat is at the top of the stairs he'll-" She began. 

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson, I can take it from here. John, come on up." Came a velvety smooth voice from above. 

John cleared his throat and passed his jacket to the short woman. Sherlock had disappeared back into the flat, and he climbed the stairs on his own. The flat he entered was a mess of random papers and scientific detritus. John made his way to Sherlock, who was standing facing the window with his violin in hand, and cleared his throat once more. 

"Your housekeeper is nice." He said. 

Sherlock spun with the grace of a professional ballerina and looked John up and down, walking to him and shaking his hand. "She's my landlady, not my housekeeper. She does tend to clean up after me and attempt to feed me though." 

"Doesn't clean in here." John said with a chuckle, immediately regretting his candor. 

"No, she does, I just tend to undo her work with frightening speed and accuracy. Now take a seat and tell me why you've lied about your brother." Sherlock replied, face a mask of indifference. 

John's eyes shot wide but he went to sit in the large armchair opposite Sherlock. Sherlock took the seat in front of him, resting the violin on his thighs and steepling his fingers at his chin. 

"I..." John tried. 

"Come on, out with it, I know your brother is alive. Just recently gave you this mobile." Sherlock said, flipping the mobile he'd stowed in his jacket in the air and making John simultaneously cringe and wonder when he had nicked it. 

"How did you know about my...brother?" John asked, not willing to give away more information than had already slipped his grasp. 

Sherlock went on to tell him exactly how he knew about not only John's brother, but his entire history, gesturing dismissively with his hands and speaking at a fevered pace. John sat back in the chair with a look of shock on his face. Sherlock braced himself for the inevitable angry response. 

"That was...amazing. Bloody brilliant. And you got all that from what you could see. Fantastic." He effused. 

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and looked from side to side as if waiting for someone to jump out and tell him it was all a prank. 

"Really? You think so?" Sherlock asked, hesitation coloring his words. 

"Absolutely-"John began. 

Just as he did a man in a suit rushed in. He was breathing heavily and Sherlock shot up from his seat. 

"There's been another!" Sherlock shouted excitedly. 

The man with the salt and pepper hair nodded. "This one left a note. Are you coming?" 

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked. 

"Who do you think?" The man replied. 

"He won't work with me. I need an assistant!" Sherlock grumbled. 

"Come on, let's go." The other man replied. 

"Fine, I'll be right behind." Sherlock said, spinning to glance down at John. "Multiple serial murders and now there's a note!" 

John didn't know what to say as Sherlock jumped and shook his fists. 

"It's Christmas!" He shouted. 

"Oh, Sherlock, don't be so happy. It's not decent." Mrs Hudson chirped from the door. 

"Have to go." Sherlock said to John. "You know where the door is, show yourself out." 

John's stomach sank as the tall man grabbed his coat and scarf and disappeared out the door. 

"Oh, don't worry about him, hun, he's always running off like that. Here's your coat." Mrs Hudson said. 

John stood carefully and took his coat, wondering if he'd ever see the mad man again. 

Just as he made it to the landing Sherlock hopped back up the stairs in a flurry of dark wool and sharp cheekbones. He smiled wickedly, pink alighting his nose from the cold. 

"You're a doctor. An army doctor." He said. 

John cleared his throat. "Yes." He said, taking on a soldier's stance. 

"Any good?" Sherlock asked. 

"Very." John said truthfully. 

"Want to see some action?" Sherlock said with a gleam in his eye. 

"Oh, God yes." John replied.


	4. How Long?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First case together. Then adrenaline fueled smut.

They made it to street level and Sherlock effortlessly hailed a cab. John climbed in after him and they drove off towards the crime scene. After a few minutes of quiet Sherlock turned to John and spoke. 

"You have questions." He said, smile playing at his lips. 

"Why did you invite me along?" John asked. 

"I need an assistant." Sherlock replied, looking back out the window at the darkening sky. 

"But you don't know me." 

"I know enough. You'll be useful."

"It doesn't put you off? That I'm..." John began. 

"Obsessed? Attracted to me? Crippled? Depressed? Hardly." Sherlock said with a smirk. 

John opened and closed his mouth, trying to speak but not finding the words. Sherlock looked back at him, smirk turning into a genuinely happy smile. 

"That's, er, that's...I'm not depressed." John said at last. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How much weight have you lost since you left the army? How often do you get out? Have any hobbies? Besides stalking me, of course. What does your therapist say?"  Sherlock rattled off. 

John looked up at the last one. "How did you know I have a therapist?" 

"With a psychosomatic limp? Of course you've got a therapist." Sherlock said calmly. "So you're not depressed? And don't tell me, you're not gay either." 

John felt his face flush. "No-no I'm not."  He stammered. 

Sherlock chuckled as the cab came to a halt, and John felt his face flush further. He followed Sherlock out and down the street, ducking under the caution tape when he held it up and standing in front of a young woman who obviously disliked Sherlock. 

"What are you doing here?" She asked angrily. 

"Heard there was a murder." Sherlock replied, walking towards the building. 

"It's suicide!" She shouted after. 

Sherlock spun but kept moving towards the front door. 

"And you ruined the knees of your trousers scrubbing Anderson's floor. You should tell his wife when she gets back in town, perhaps she'll reimburse you." He replied. 

John looked down at her knees and then to the man standing close by with the shocked look. He shook his head and walked after Sherlock. 

\-----

After Sherlock told detective Lestrade everything he was willing to and shouted something about pink he ran down the stairs, leaving John to look around confused and find his own way out. He made it down the stairs and out into the night without another glimpse of the genius. 

"What's the best way back to the main street?" He asked the woman Sherlock had insulted. 

She tipped her head in the direction they came from and John started to walk. 

"I'd stay away from him if I were you." She said without looking up. 

"Rather good thing you're not me then, isn't it?" He replied before hobbling down the street. 

\-----

He made it down about three blocks when a cab pulled up next to him and a man in a bespoke suit stepped out. John didn't think much about it but the man kept pace with him. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and walked into the nearest shop. The man followed him but walked down the beverage isle. 

He felt stupid for thinking he was being followed and went to the loo to splash some water on his face. He turned on the faucet and gripped the sink. It was all this murder business, that's all. No one was following him. He splashed his face and wiped his hands before picking his cane back up and walking out into the night once more. 

Just as the sliding doors closed behind him the man in the fancy suit showed up next to him again and held out a bag of crisps. John looked at him, eyebrows knit together. 

"Oh, come now, doctor Watson. Take the crisps, they're your favorite. Must have something to eat, takes a lot out of a man, running after Sherlock Holmes all day." The man said with a perfectly blank face. 

"Who are you and what do you want?" John asked. 

"Oh, me? I'm just an interested party. Like you. I think you'll find we have a lot in common. Undisguised interest in Sherlock Holmes. Military background. Penchant for the disorderly." The man said. 

"Pentchant-what are you saying? Are you trying to intimidate me?" John asked, reaching for the gun that wasn't there. 

"Are you intimidated?" The man asked. 

John's upper lip twitched. "Pissed off more like it. Leave me alone."  He said, starting to walk away. 

"I'd pay you. To keep an eye on him, that is. You'll be following him around now anyway, might as well get paid." 

John turned angrily. "I don't need your money." 

The man raised an eyebrow. "So your therapist isn't the only one you lie to. Interesting." 

John was about to give him hell when his mobile chimed. He took it from his pocket and looked at the screen. 

COME TO THE FLAT. WE HAVE THINGS TO DISCUSS.   
SH 

He slipped it back in his pocket and walked to the kerb to hail a cab. The man behind him walked closer. 

"I could give you a ride. 221b Baker Street?" He said, opening the crisps and putting one in his mouth. 

"Bugger off!" John said, opening the door of a waiting cab and getting in. 

"Have fun, doctor Watson." The man said with a strange smile. 

\-----

Sherlock was sitting with his hands steepled under his chin when a knock came to the door. 

"Come in." He said. 

John walked in and looked around. 

"I think you've got a stalker." He said. 

"You mean besides you? I'm sure I have a few. Why, what happened?"

John sighed and shifted on his feet. "A man tried to pay me to spy on you." 

"Mmm. Did you take the money?" Sherlock asked. 

"Of course not!" John huffed. 

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think about someone besides yourself next time." Sherlock said. 

John laughed and sat in the chair next to the couch. 

"What do you need, Mr Holmes?" He asked. 

"It's Sherlock. I need you to send a text." Sherlock replied. 

\-----

What ended up being about five hours later John and Sherlock were sitting in a Chinese restaurant. John found himself immensely hungry for the first time in months, and was devouring his chow mein. Sherlock was on his third egg roll when they brought out the jiu and poured both men a glass. John set down his chopsticks and raised his glass. Sherlock raised his as well. 

"To bad cabbies." John said. 

"And the good men that end them." Sherlock added. 

They drank the alcohol back and John sputtered. 

"Jesus! That's strong!" he said. 

Sherlock smiled and poured them another. John took a sip and went back to his meal. Sherlock sipped his and watched the doctor closely. There was something about John that he wanted around. Something that went beyond competent. Something he needed. 

"I play the violin at all hours, barely sleep. I can go days without speaking." Sherlock said at length. 

John looked up and wiped his mouth. "Why are you telling me?" 

"I have a room upstairs that's sitting empty. Mrs Hudson has been looking for a lodger, but no one wants to put up with me." Sherlock replied. "She needs the money, and you'll need a new place to live...soon." 

John chuckled. "I won't ask how you knew, but what makes you think I'd make a good roommate? I just killed a man, and I recall you referring to me as your stalker earlier this evening." 

"You're less dull than most, and were quite helpful on the case. Not to mention you killed him to save me. I think that's enough to be going on." Sherlock said. "You can look at the room after dinner." 

John smiled and nodded, taking another drink and getting back to his food. 

\-----

By the time both of them were done with their food almost all the jiu had been consumed. They both swayed a little on their feet as they walked out of the restaurant. 

"You sure we don't need to pay?" John asked for the second time. 

"Mmm. Sure. Let's go." Sherlock said. 

He hailed a cab seemingly out of nowhere and they piled in. John felt dizzy as it sped away and the dark city out the window was blurry. He put his hand down to stop himself from falling over when the cab took a sharp turn and found himself grasping Sherlock's hand. 

Sherlock looked down at it dumbfounded. John's hand was rough and warm against his and it sent all kinds of chemicals rushing through his bloodstream. He could actually FEEL himself getting aroused! It was bloody magnificent! 

John drew his hand away quickly and both men felt sick at the action. Luckily the cab pulled to the kerb and they had to get out. They stumbled up to the door and John rested against the wall as Sherlock searched for the keys. Mrs Hudson wasn't home, or he'd have just knocked. This was good for her as it was past four in the morning. 

He finally got the key in the lock on the third try and the door swung open. They made it into the entryway and Sherlock shut the door. John switched a light on to find Sherlock trying to lock the closet door instead of the front. He started laughing and Sherlock turned around with a frown. The frown was adorable and John laughed harder at the fact that he found a frown adorable. Sherlock started laughing too. 

"I haven't had this much fun in...a very long time." John said. 

"If this is your idea of fun I'd hate to see what a bad day is like." Sherlock said with a grin. 

John grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him forward, standing on his tip toes to kiss him. Their lips slid together and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck. John licked into his mouth and brushed his tongue across Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned into his mouth and pushed him up against the wall. 

They broke to breathe and Sherlock looked into John's eyes. "I don't really date." He said. 

John cocked his head to the right and looked up at him while reaching into his pocket and pulling something out.  He held it out to Sherlock and turned around to face the wall. Sherlock appraised the item in his hand, a condom, as John undid his trousers and pushed them and his pants to the ground. 

"I don't really like men. Are you going to fuck me, or what?" John said over his shoulder. 

Sherlock reached out to grab one beautifully tanned cheek and squeeze it. John grunted and pushed back into his hand. Sherlock stuck the condom in his pocket and pulled John's arse cheeks apart. God, they were perfect! Round and muscular, everything Sherlock wanted so desperately to touch. 

He sank to his knees and bit into the left cheek. John yelped and then moaned loudly as Sherlock laved it with his tongue. He started cursing when Sherlock pushed a spit slicked finger into his hole, watching it dissappear and breathing hot air around it. Sherlock slowly worked in a second and then a third before standing and pushed down his own trousers and pants. 

He pulled John's hips back and put the condom on. He was incredibly hard, and had to bite his own tongue to stop himself from coming as he lined up his cock. 

"Please, oh, please, just get on with it!" John choked out. 

Sherlock smiled and pushed in, thankful for the lube on the condom. He slipped in smoothly and slowly pushed forward. John was pushing his hips back, arse greedy for Sherlock's prick, as Sherlock bottomed out. 

"Do you like that?" Sherlock asked, gripping John's hips tightly and pulling out just a tad. 

"Oh, fuck yes!" John hollered. 

Sherlock slammed back into him and felt his world go fuzzy. John was hot and tight and so bloody desperate. 

"How long? How long have you wanted my cock?" Sherlock asked, setting up a rhythm. 

"Fuck! Since I saw you the first time. On the telly. Being a git!" John said honestly. 

It was apparently the right thing to say as Sherlock whimpered and sped up his thrusts. He leaned over John's back and started roughly kissing his neck. 

"How long have you been aching to, oh, fuck me with it?" John asked. 

"From the second you showed up in my flat." Sherlock replied, fucking him hard. 

"Oh, fuck!" John screamed. 

"Accurate." Sherlock purred. 

"Wait, stop, let me turn around." John said, breath coming in hard puffs. 

Sherlock bit his lip and pulled out. John turned around and Sherlock kissed him fiercely as he pulled one knee up to his waist and then the other. John held on and cried out as he felt Sherlock sink back into him. He leaned back against the wall so Sherlock could go in deep, feeling himself closing in on the edge. 

Sherlock pulled his arse cheeks apart and fucked him so hard he was slipping up and down the wall, bouncing on his cock. John was moaning and closing his eyes tightly and Sherlock knew he was close so he reached between them and started roughly fisting his cock. 

"Oh! Fuck! Harder! Oh!" John shouted, already feeling himself start to clench down around Sherlock's prick. 

"You want it hard? Fine!" Sherlock said, tightening his hand and snapping his hips as hard as he could. 

John started to scream and come, arsehole tightening sinfully and milking Sherlock's cock. Sherlock shoved as deep as he could into him and came with John still shouting his name.


	5. Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couple of paragraphs got cut off. Here is the full chapter.

After what felt like a long time, but probably wasn't Sherlock pulled out and let John return to his feet. He refused, however, to remove his face from the warm spot directly between John's neck and shoulder. John chuckled and wrapped his arms around his neck. Sherlock felt like he was going to be sick.

He was thoroughly ashamed. He'd given in to carnal pleasure and was going to lose the only interesting person in his life before he'd ever got to know him. There were so many things he wanted to know about John. He wanted to find out why he felt warm under his praise, why his thoughts flowed more freely in his presence. He choked out a sob before he realised he was doing it and pulled away suddenly, turning and pulling on his clothes with the condom still hanging on.

He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the far wall as John stood confused. John put a hand on his shoulder and Sherlock stiffened.

"Don't." He said loudly. "Don't, unless you're staying."

John squeezed his shoulder and then his hand was gone. It was exactly how Sherlock expected things to go. As far as he was concerned one of them should have got paid. That's what this was, after all, a transaction. He'd had fans proposition him before, but he'd never given in. He wondered absently if he should sign something for John.

"Are you alright?" John asked, dragging Sherlock from his thoughts.

Sherlock turned to look at him. He was fully dressed again and looking almost presentable. Sherlock wanted badly to reach out and smooth down the hair behind his left ear, but it wasn't his place.

"This was a bad idea." John said quietly at seeing how absolutely broken Sherlock looked.

"Sex usually is." Sherlock shot back.

John looked like he was going to disagree, but instead of speaking he grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him up the stairs. Sherlock followed, every step reminding him with aching clarity of what an idiot he was as the condom pulled against his now limp penis. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to shrivel up and die. He wanted to vomit.

When they got to the top step John reached into Sherlock's pocket and retrieved the keys, unlocked the door on the first try, and led them in. He took off his shoes and asked Sherlock where the loo was. When Sherlock pointed the way he walked towards it without even turning on a light. Sherlock waited until the door was closed and reached into his trousers to remove the condom. It was cold and sticky and made him feel so utterly human. Pathetic.

He heard the tap turn on, old pipes creaking in the walls, and wondered why the tub was being filled. When John walked down the hall, uneven footfalls preceding him, Sherlock was surprised to find him smiling gently.

"Come on, then, let's get you into a bath." John said. When Sherlock simply stared he gripped his hand. "You've had a look long day and you're filthy, it's into the bath with you."

Sherlock walked behind John, body feeling stiff.

"I don't need a mother." He spit, trying for disgust but falling somewhere in the fields of awkwardness.

"Says who?" John spit back, teasingly. Sherlock huffed but let himself be led through his bedroom and to the tub. The water was half full and steaming and Sherlock had to admit that now that all the adrenaline had abandoned him he was feeling quite like he could use a soak. He'd never say that to John, of course.

John turned him around and started pulling off his coat. Sherlock scowled, but let him. He set it aside and unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt, sliding it down his arms and off of him almost clinically. 'And that's what it was', Sherlock thought, 'not affection, but duty.' His trousers and pants followed and John finally knelt to untie Sherlock's shoes and remove them and his socks so he could step out of the twisted wool at his ankles. John turned the taps down and Sherlock stepped into the water.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" John asked, suddenly looking quite apprehensive.

Sherlock nodded and settled down into the hot water. John stood staring at him for a second with a look that Sherlock vaguely remembered from his addict days. The look said 'Oh, you poor thing'.

He was glad when John left the room. Okay, glad wasn't exactly the feeling. Alright, glad wasn't even close. He was...cold. Cold when John left the room. Which was a ridiculous way to feel when almost wholly submerged in hot water. He turned the taps all the way off and slipped under the surface of the water.

He'd always liked the world from this point of view, there but removed. The sound of John moving down the hall was less of a sound and more of a feeling. He breathed out and watched as the air from his lungs escaped as quickly as it could. That's what he needed. Escape.

It took the burning in his lungs to make him sit up. He gasped and let his body suck in as much air as it could, sitting back and pushing the curls away from his forehead, water stinging his eyes.

\-----

John sat on the edge of the sofa wondering what the bloody hell he'd been thinking. The answer, of course, was that he hadn't. He hadn't been thinking at all. He'd let the high alcohol content of the jiu be his excuse for doing things he knew better than. Really, having sex right after killing a man? This wasn't the military, and he needed to deal with that. Sexual release is not always the answer.

And now he'd gone and possibly hurt someone he'd found himself quite possibly inextricably bound to. Not because he thought Sherlock might not keep his secret, but because when John Hamish Watson decides your safety is under his control it is. It just is. There is no dilly dallying to be had. John Watson's care is as good as permanent.

He pulled off his outer clothes and grabbed a blanket from the far side of the room and lay on the sofa. He'd just have to pretend it hadn't happened. He knew somewhere deep inside himself that if that was what it took to be with Sherlock, locking away his feelings, then he'd do it. He could live on Sherlock's friendship, he'd lived on less before.

\-----

Sherlock was staring at his fingers, pruney and pale. He'd been in the bath long enough for the water to go cold, and he hadn't even washed his hair yet. He shivered a bit, but refused to get out. If he were honest with himself he would admit that at this point John could still be in the flat, sitting on the sofa waiting for him, and if he got up to find it wasn't true he would be sick. Probably vomit all over his own feet.

But the water was cold, and getting colder. And he hadn't heard any of the outer doors, so he was fairly certain John was still there. It was just that if he wasn't...blast it!

He got out of the bath and dried himself off, head feeling a bit fuzzy. He wrapped himself in his silk robe and walked out into the sitting room. The lights were all off, but he felt John's presence. He flicked on a low light and found him sleeping with one arm off the edge of the sofa. He was short enough to fit on it, but Sherlock knew his leg and shoulder would both be yelling at him in the morning if he left him there.

"John." He said quietly, rubbing John's bicep.

"What, Sherlock what is it?" John asked, sitting bolt upright and looking around.

"You can't sleep on my sofa." Sherlock said.

He realised his error as soon as he saw the pain in John's eyes.

"What I mean is, you'll exacerbate your injury. You can share my bed." He added quickly.

John blinked a few times and stood carefully. Sherlock's lips twitched and he led the way. He got under the covers and John did too, looking at Sherlock for a second before turning away.

"See you in the morning, John." Sherlock said quietly.

"Mmm. Morning." John agreed.

And if by morning the two men ended up in a sleepy embrace, well, that was just fine. And it was. Fine, indeed.


	6. You Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love you, jess.

The next morning when Sherlock woke he had a headache and found his arms wrapped around John Watson. They were placed so that if he moved quickly to retract them John would wake. That was his first instinct; to pull away. With that option aside he went through a list of others. As he was traipsing around his own mind John awoke, sighing and snuggling closer to Sherlock's chest. Sherlock snapped back to full consciousness when he felt the change of breath on his left shoulder. 

"Morning." He said, thinking it must be what people did in situations like this. 

John pulled back with a sharp intake of breath. Sherlock let him pull away, and wondered what he'd done wrong. John sat up and scrubbed a hand through his hair. 

"Sorry about that. I know you don't want...well, I'm not sure what you want." John said nervously. 

Sherlock looked away as he folded in on himself. He should tell John what he really wanted; him. Every ounce, every breath. He wanted to breathe John in and keep him inside of his chest until he'd figured out exactly how he ticked. He wanted to hold John still as he peeled away the layers to find out what new and exciting things lay beneath. Most of all he wanted John to stay. 

"You're going to have to tell me. You're the one who can read minds while I'm left spinning. What do you want?" John asked. 

"I don't know if I should be allowed what I want." He answered truthfully. 

John frowned. "How about you let me be the judge of that?" 

"I'll ask too much." Sherlock said, looking away. "I know that. I'll take and take and then there'll be nothing left to give." 

"What are you going to take that I won't willingly give you?" John asked. 

"I don't share. I'm possessive. I'll want to know everything you're thinking. All the time. I'm demanding and childish." Sherlock began. 

"So you're a handful? Is that it? You're trying to tell me the dating equivalent of your roommate speech. How about I tell you why you won't want to be with me?" John asked. 

Sherlock sat up and picked at his fingernails. When he didn't say anything John continued. 

"I nag. I nag and nag, but never really expect a change. I don't get angry easily, but when I do I can become quite shouty. I require at least five cups of tea a day. I'm jealous. I wear the same four outfits and go to the same stores and eat the same food. I am obsessive and frugal. I'm still very much a soldier."

Sherlock looked up a while after John had stopped. John's eyebrows were knit together and he looked incredibly worried. 

"I happen to like soldiers." Sherlock said flatly. 

John pounced on him and pressed him into the sheets. He nipped at Sherlock's neck and Sherlock laughed aloud. John continued to kiss him roughly as he ran his fingers through the taller man's hair. Sherlock moaned at one specific pull and John ground his hips down. 

"Oh, John!" He moaned. 

"Why," John asked, "why didn't you like it last night? What don't you want me to do? I'll be fine with anything, just tell me what you don't like."

"What made you think I didn't like something?" Sherlock asked, running last night over and over in his head and just then realising how drunk he must have been. 

"The look, the look on your face when you pulled away. I thought you...I don't know." 

Sherlock thought for a second and remembered being concerned that John was just a fan. He sighed and looked up at John. 

"I didn't want a 'one night stand'. You're much too interesting to waste on just sex." He said, answering honestly for the second time that day (this had better not become a habit). 

John kissed Sherlock again on the mouth. "You said you don't date. All you had to do was say. I know we were both quite drunk. Maybe we can start over." 

"Does starting over involve us leaving the bed?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. 

"Not unless you want it to."

"Well in that case, continue." Sherlock said, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. 

John chuckled and started to kiss his neck again. Sherlock let his mind catalogue all of the ways John's mouth moved across his skin. He took in the places where he was obviously ticklish (something he'd never had a chance to do previously as he had been opposed to being touched). When John got to his prick he couldn't stop the moan that came out of his mouth. 

"You like that, huh?" John asked as he licked a stripe up the underside of Sherlock's cock. 

"Yes!" Sherlock hissed. 

John, who'd only given two blow jobs in his life, sucked the head into his mouth and tongued at the slit. Sherlock gripped the sheets in his hands and moaned again. John sunk down slowly, covering his prick in exquisite heat, and played with his bollocks. When he pulled off Sherlock whimpered. 

"Bloody hell. You're gorgeous." He said. 

Sherlock was; his pale skin was blushing beautifully and his curls were sleep mussed. He slowly opened his eyes and his eyebrows pulled together. Those lips. Those fucking lips were pouty and spit slick and red. 

"John." He mustered. 

John sat up and lined up their cocks before spitting in his hand and starting to stroke them. Sherlock's eyes fell closed again and his hips shot up. John rolled his hips, the movement pushing his prick through his fist, and grunted. Sherlock started to thrust up as John worked his hand faster. He felt himself getting close and raised his hand up to work at the heads while John continued to stroke their shafts. 

It only took a small while longer before John started cursing and squeezing harder and Sherlock knew he was going to snap. He gripped John's arse and bit his lip and started to come hard. John's eyes shot open and he came looking down at those perfect lips. They both thrust over and over until it was too much and then John fell to the side. 

After breathing contentedly for several moments John took Sherlock's hand in his clean one. Sherlock rubbed his thumb over the back of John's hand. 

"I need to get a flannel." John said. 

Sherlock looked down at his chest and started laughing. 

"Yes, you really do." He said. 

"So does this make me your boyfriend?" John asked nervously. 

"As much as I detest the word, I agree with the sentiment." Sherlock murmured. 

John laughed. "I think I might like this." 

"You wouldn't be the only one."


	7. Bloody Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More porn, and scaring Sally and Anderson. All in all, it's a good day.

John cleaned himself and Sherlock and got up to make tea. He found the kettle easy enough and filled it with water. With it turned on he made his way to the fridge. It seemed to be filled more with science experiments than food so he gave up and wandered back to bed. Sherlock's eyes were closed but he was obviously thinking. 

"There's nothing to eat." John said, slipping back under the covers. 

Sherlock hummed non-committally and John chuckled. Just as he was about to add something along the lines of 'we need food to survive', Sherlock's mobile rang. His arm shot out and he picked it up, turning it off and rolling over. 

"What if that was important?" John asked. 

"It was Lestrade. He wants me to come in so I can do his job for him. We'll go in after we shower. We can get food on the way home."

John smiled and wrapped his arms around him. "So you did hear me?" 

"Of course I heard you," Sherlock replied huaghtily, "my ears work perfectly." 

John laughed and kissed his neck. Sherlock arched into it and then pulled away. 

"I want you to fuck me in the shower." He said quickly. 

John nearly choked on his own saliva. "Ah! Okay. Um, now?" 

"After tea. Don't let me forget." Sherlock said, getting out of bed and walking starkers to the kitchen. 

John watched him go, glad he hadn't been ready, as his refractory period wasn't what it used to be. On the other hand, Sherlock's plump arsecheeks were making him want to jump him right then and there. As if he could read John's mind Sherlock turned and gave him a knowing smile. 

\-----

After Sherlock had managed to borrow a few pieces of toast from Mrs Hudson's flat, breaking in being nothing new to either him or his landlady, and John had found a usable jar of jam they finished their tea and walked to the shower. Sherlock turned on the tap and let it warm against his hand. He pulled a tube of lubricant and condom out of the medicine cabinet and hopped into the shower. 

John pushed his nervousness aside and climbed in after him. Sherlock moved under the spray and let it soak his hair as John stood, not knowing what to do with his hands. After a few seconds Sherlock leveled his gaze on John once more and frowned thoughtfully. 

"Do you want to open me, or would you rather I do it?" Sherlock asked in an almost business-like tone. 

John's mouth fell open. 

"I'll do it this time. I like to use vibrators and dildos, so I'm usually quick and thorough. Do you want to watch?" Sherlock asked. 

John, who's voice had altogether abandoned him, nodded and bit his lip. Sherlock gave him a quick kiss and turned to face the wall. He squeezed some lube onto his fingers and rested his upper body against the tiles. When he slipped a finger between his cheeks John felt his cock twitch, already hard and leaking. 

"Would you hold my arsecheeks apart?" Sherlock asked breathlessly. 

John reached forward and pulled them slowly open. The water was rushing down Sherlock's back and over his hole as he rubbed one finger in slow circles. As promised, it didn't stay slow. He slipped in the tip and arched his back, then forced himself to loosen and pushed the long digit all the way in. 

John made a grunting sound as the finger disappeared and then Sherlock pulled out and added another. That tight pink ring grew red as Sherlock pushed and pulled and eased it open. John thought he might come before he even touched his cock to it, but Sherlock was quickly finished and he was able to squeeze down on the base of his cock to stave off his climax. Sherlock was shaking as he handed the lube and condom back to John. 

"I've always bottomed." John spit out nervously. 

"Even with the women you date?" Sherlock teased. 

John didn't say anything so Sherlock took the hint. "It's just like having sex with a woman, hold your prick still and push into me slowly." 

John let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and rolled the condom on. He took a step forward and pushed the head of his prick up against Sherlock's wet hole. Sherlock shivered. 

"That's it! Now, just, just push it in." Sherlock said weakly. 

John pressed into Sherlock and moaned loudly as the tight heat wrapped around him. He pulled out a bit and pressed back in. 

"Oh, fuck yes! More!" Sherlock demanded, the confidence he lost the night before coming back in full force. 

John nodded and clenched his jaw. He pushed in further and both of them grunted. It was so tight! So bloody tight! He was going to ask Sherlock if it was alright, but the man was moaning as much as his legs were shaking, so he figured it must feel good. He pulled out a bit again and the next slide in had him seated fully in Sherlock's arse. 

Sherlock rolled his hips, making sparks fly behind John's eyelids, and John gripped his hips tightly. He just needed a few seconds, a few seconds and he'd be able to move. 

"Breathe." Sherlock whimpered. "Breathe, and then for God's sake, move." 

John chuckled and did as he was asked. He started to thrust as Sherlock rolled his hips and made all kinds of delicious sounds. 

"Oh, hell! Oh, that's good!" Sherlock shouted. 

"God, you're tight!" John hissed. 

Sherlock nodded and spread his feet a bit more and John's cock was there! Right there, oh, God, there! A shot of heat exploded in him as John's cock rubbed against his prostate. John felt him tighten and tried for the same angle again. 

"Oh, John! If you don't start fucking me harder I'm going to come without you!" Sherlock moaned. 

John pulled out and snapped his hips, thrusting his cock home over and over again. He was digging his fingers in and biting his lip and just as he was about to ask if this was how Sherlock wanted it he felt the man's arsehole tighten vice-like around him and Sherlock howled. John's eyes closed and he chased his orgasm, pumping into Sherlock over and over again until he couldn't hold back any longer. He stuck his cock as deep as it would go and held Sherlock still as he spilled into him. 

Sherlock had become quiet, little breathy noises taking over for hoarse shouts. John kissed his back and rubbed his hands up his thighs. Sherlock hummed happily and John pulled his now soft cock out gently. He watched Sherlock's arsehole twitch and found himself sliding his hand down to run his thumb around the abused edge. Sherlock whimpered and he pulled his hand away. 

"You're fucking gorgeous." He muttered as he got half out of the shower and tossed the condom away. 

When he got back in Sherlock had turned around and was getting a flannel soapy. He smiled shyly up at John, who took in his sudden quiet demeanor and kissed him softly on the lips. Sherlock closed his eyes and ran the flannel reverently down John's chest. 

He continued to clean John, only resting when the older man insisted on returning the favor. It took much longer than it should have, but when the shower was done they were both clean, and that was the desired effect, after all. 

When they got back into the bedroom John realised that he didn't have a change of clothes and gathered the ones he'd worn the day before. Sherlock passed him a pair of pants with little beakers and glasses printed on them and John raised his eyebrows. 

"Present." Sherlock said, obviously unable to see why anyone would give novelty pants. 

John shrugged and slipped them on before stepping into his trousers and putting on his shirt. Sherlock took out a perfectly pressed pair of trousers and emerald green button up. He pulled on a pair of black Italian looking pants and John smiled to himself. (Bit of a primadonna as it were.) When Sherlock was fully dressed he grabbed his mobile and led John out to the street. 

"Scotland Yard." He said as they slipped into the back of a black cab. 

John got in next to him and they were off. John felt his heart stutter when Sherlock threaded their fingers together. He moved a bit closer and Sherlock beamed out the window. 

They made it to the Met in under ten minutes and Sherlock handed the cabby some notes and climbed out. John followed and caught up to Sherlock as the tall man slowed upon approaching the door. He grabbed John's hand as they passed through the metal detector and John tried not to blush. They were almost to DI Lestrade's door when Anderson slipped in front of them. 

"You're the doctor from last night. What are you doing here?" He snipped.   
"Just here to, um, fill out some papers." John replied. 

"And why are you two holding hands?" Sally demanded from behind them. 

"John's my boyfriend." Sherlock said, puffing his chest out like an angry sparrow. 

"You didn't tell us he was your boyfriend yesterday! Has he kidnapped you? Are you under duress?" Sally teased. 

John squared his shoulders and smiled cruelly at her. "It was an impressive night. And morning." 

"And then once again in the shower." Sherlock added. 

Both Sally and Anderson paled to the shade of school paste as John squeezed Sherlock's hand and they sauntered down the hall. Greg looked up from his desk as they walked through the door. 

"Why don't you ever answer your-" He began. When he saw the two men's hands clutched together he cleared his throat and passed a pile of papers over. "Need you to fill out these incident reports to the best of your knowledge. I'll get us some coffee." 

John and Sherlock sat down and started flipping through the pages. Greg walked out the door and down the hall in a daze. Sherlock bloody Holmes had a boyfriend. He knew there was something between them the day before, just couldn't put his finger on it. 'Well, good on him', Greg thought, 'and that doctor better be good for him, or I swear'. 

When he'd made it back to his office door with the coffee he could hear John and Sherlock giggling on the other side of the door. Bloody hell. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and went to his desk. The two men in front of him at least attempted to hide their glee. It was going to be a long day.


	8. Certain Effect On A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells of Anderson and we get a small peak into his post Sherlock existence.

Greg settled in his chair as John and Sherlock filled out the usual forms. He was dying to know what it was about the doctor that drew Sherlock to him so quickly. The rumor going around the Met was that Sherlock was a virgin. What no one knew was that back in his druggie days Lestrade had arrested Sherlock for public indecency. The genius had been caught in a park with his cock up some pretty bloke's arse. 

He decided he needed to know more so he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "So, I hate to be this sort, but how did you two meet?" 

"You love it." Sherlock said. 

"I read his blog. Got ahold of him, and then he needed an assistant." John said. 

"He lied to me. Made up a case." Sherlock added. 

John elbowed him in the ribs and blushed. "I just wanted to meet him. Get to know he was like behind the genius." 

Greg smiled. "And what did you find?" 

"More genius." John said firmly. 

Greg snorted and Sherlock gave him a look that said 'don't say what you're thinking'. John set his finished form down as Sherlock went back to filling his out. 

"So you're a doctor?" Greg asked. 

"Yeah. GP right now at a small clinic. I have a blog about field medicine, though. Was a doctor in the army for a while." John said, back straightening unconsciously. 

"Impressive. And now you're treating colds. Is that why you decided to follow Sherlock around? A little adrenaline?"

John chuckled and nodded. "Am I really that transparent?" 

It was Sherlock's turn to snort then, and John blushed again. 

"I am a detective and all." Greg said. "I wouldn't worry about it." 

Sherlock passed his form over and stood. "Sorry to break up this little chat, but we have to go. John's moving in with me, and we have to get his things." 

Greg looked surprised, but let them go. They didn't spot Sally or Anderson on their way out and John was glad for that. 

When they walked to the kerb to get a cab, however, Anderson seemed to come out of nowhere with a sneer. 

"I hear you're playing house. How very domestic of you." He said to Sherlock. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"You really should think twice about this. You seem like a-" Anderson began to say to John. 

John turned to him and gripped the back of his neck while whispering in his ear. "You'd best keep your opinions to yourself, mate. I used to kill people for a living." 

When he drew back Sherlock eyed the two carefully and noted Anderson's silence and pale face. A cab pulled up and John got in the back seat as Sherlock lingered on the street. 

"He really is quite protective, and after such a short time. I'd take whatever advice he gave you." Sherlock said to Anderson before getting in the cab and closing the door. 

"You really don't have to stand up for me." Sherlock said. "They're all idiots anyway." 

"You shouldn't have to deal with their shit." John replied casually. "And I am. Protective, I mean." 

Sherlock took his hand and smiled out the window.

\-----

When they got to John's bedsit and Sherlock saw where he'd been living he knew he been right about the depression. It was less of a flat and more of a prison cell. It lacked any kind of visual stimuli and made Sherlock feel boxed in, unable to breathe. If you weren't depressed when you moved in you surely would be after a short time. The fact that John had been existing there for months was palpably painful. 

It was worse when Sherlock saw that John hadn't even unpacked his things, happy to live out of a few duffle rather than actually put down any kind of roots. Then again, if Sherlock were living there he would have riddled the walls with bullets and burn marks already. His kind of interior decorating left something to be desired. 

"I'll just toss some things in my bags and we can go." John said, mood already deteriorating in the small room. 

Sherlock sat at the desk while John put his bedding and clothes in one bag. When John turned around he found Sherlock fingering his gun. He rushed forward and grabbed it from his hands, emptying the chamber and tucking it in the back of his trousers. 

"What are you doing with this? I left it at the Baker Street flat!" John demanded. 

"This place has a certain effect on a man. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Sherlock said softly. 

The non sequitur threw John for a second. When he realised what Sherlock meant, or at least what he thought Sherlock meant, he cleared his throat and stood a bit straighter. Sherlock knew that the act was a sort of coping mechanism; he became the soldier, the embodiment of power. 

"I don't want you touching my gun unless you need to." John said nervously as he turned to get the rest of his things. 

A few minutes later he handed one duffle to Sherlock and started down the stairs carrying the other. Sherlock managed to make a cab appear with what seemed like pure will and they got on their way. The ride was short, and when they got up to the flat John sat agitatedly on the couch. 

"I've upset you." Sherlock said, standing in front of him and looking out the window. 

"No. No. I'm not upset. It was just hard having someone else see what a fucking dump it was. Should have got another flat a long time ago."

"But you didn't see the need." Sherlock added. 

"No." John said quietly. 

"Tea?" Sherlock asked, and when John saw he wasn't about to make it himself he chuckled and got up. 

The act of filling the kettle was enough to put him more at ease. He hated talking about his depression. Just hated it. It was bad enough to be broken in that way, but to talk about it made it more shameful. He knew that it shouldn't be shameful, he knew, but that didn't make the feeling go away.


End file.
